


Chance Encounters

by SingingRobot



Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Gen, another hld fix-it fic, based on what happens if you don't talk to the Guardian throughout the game, coughing illness and blood are all mentioned per game canon, death is mentioned and described but no one dies in the end, the real panacea was the friends we made along the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27632210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingRobot/pseuds/SingingRobot
Summary: The Drifter meets the Guardian several times on his journey, and once when his quest is over. (I just want both the Guardian and the Drifter to be alive and happy at the end.)
Relationships: The Drifter & The Guardian (Hyper Light Drifter)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Chance Encounters

When the Drifter had fallen in the forest, vision blurring and chest burning, he didn’t have the time to crawl to safety. He was in a clearing, like so many of the bones he had seen lying helplessly in other clearings, and after the path of creatures he’d just cut through, he was certain he was going to become another skeleton in the scenery. Except his bones would likely be scattered, pushed into one of the unseemly piles he came across every so often by the beasts that would tear him apart and by apathetic travelers kicking the shards of his remains out of the way.  
At some point, he drifted off to sleep and dreamed of firelight, and of a stranger that did not kill him, but sat near him, waiting and watching. The vision was soon lost to a darkness that sunk into his bones and made him all but dead to the world. 

-

Only in the mountains of the north did the Drifter discover it was a memory. He paused on his ascent, watching the Guardian sheathe a weapon before the final bird’s body hit the ground. He kept his knees bent when the Guardian turned around, and for a few seconds they stared at each other in silence. The Drifter stiffly nodded before going around them, choosing to stay alone on his path. Drifters do not indebt drifters, and he didn’t plan to stick around long enough to encounter the Guardian again. 

-

When he encountered the Guardian in the city overrun by an invading army, he still did not speak to the Guardian, even though they waved on this second (third?) encounter. The Drifter nodded in response, but as he began to leave, he stopped, took a medpack from his belt, and set it on the ground, turning his head in the Guardian’s direction without meeting their eye. It seemed right, at the time. 

-

In the forest haunted by crystals preserving the past, the Drifter felt both curious and annoyed to see the Guardian again. He would suspect them of following him, if it weren’t for the fact that they were further ahead each time. And it certainly wasn’t his intention to meet them so many times, so what were they doing? Were they on the same quest as him? He didn’t have the words to ask, so he didn’t. 

-

On the grounds of the old labs to the south of the village, he did not run when he met the Guardian. He stood a short distance away, acknowledging the other’s presence but not willing to start a conversation if the other was even more avoidant than he. Somewhat to his surprise, the Guardian spoke in a voice both unexpected and yet completely appropriate for their form.  
“You are looking for something, are you not?” the Guardian asked. “It cannot be a coincidence we keep running into each other.”  
The Drifter gave no reply, merely stared. It gave the Guardian the answer they needed.  
“It was a black dog that gave me this quest,” they said. The Drifter tilted their head, eyes widening in interest. “You look like you’ve seen it.”  
The Drifter nodded.  
The Guardian looked at the land before the two of them; a barren field of rocks and long-dead tech. “It seems you’ve come much farther than I have. It’s taken me a long time to find even half of the modules that connect to the plaza, and you’ve found nearly all of them in a matter of days. I don’t think there’s any need for me to press further.”  
And with that, they turned around and headed back to the village, the Drifter watching them leave without moving from his spot.  
“I’ll see you soon,” the Guardian said as they passed, and it sounded like they were smiling. “You’ll make quick work of it, I’m sure. I’ll set aside something for you to eat when you return.”  
The Drifter did not know what to make of that, so he stood and watched until the Guardian was out of sight before heading underground. 

-

The Drifter did not return to the Guardian’s home. He stood on the platform in the middle of the village, where the Hyper Light was pulsing like a heartbeat, and he went down, down, down into the earth. It was a grave that did not need to be dug, a tomb that did not need to be built. The pain with scales and claws writhed in his chest and his throat, and the hilt of his sword was cool in his hand. He considered himself fortunate; few people have the privilege of dying in the manner they’d always imagined.  
He faced the Immortal Cell and its fury.  
He won.  
He lost.  
He staggered out of the chamber clutching his sword in one hand and his shirt in the other. He fell upon a stone wall, which was exactly like so many others he had slept on in his journeys. He couldn’t breathe deeply enough to cough, but his shuddering breaths had enough of a rattle to remind him of why he came all this way. With a heavy head, he looked back at the neon trail of blood he’d left behind. He thought the cure was to kill Judgement, to destroy the Immortal Cell, to cut the head off of the snake that had bitten so many. But a snake’s venom does not lose its potency when the fangs are crushed. The only panacea is death, for both the afflicting and the afflicted. How disappointing.  
The Drifter is tired, and his body hurts, and when he closes his eyes, he sees a black dog. The quest is completed. He can rest. The black dog walks into oblivion, and the Drifter lets himself be swallowed in darkness. 

-

The Drifter awoke on a bed that was not his inside of a house he did not own. Even with his limited ability to turn his head, he knew where he was; it was not his first time finding himself here like this. He was stiff and sore down to his core, and though he could move his fingers and toes, they hardly felt like they were his. He tried to move, but it resulted in a dry cough pushing its way from his chest.  
It barely hurt. He couldn’t remember a time when he coughed and it did not feel like it was killing him. He briefly doubted if it was actually a cough; he’d nearly forgotten that people could cough without tasting blood.  
At the sound, footsteps hurried into the room and the Guardian appeared in the Drifter’s vision. He’d never seen them inside of their own house; it was odd, and yet they fit here so perfectly.  
“You are awake!” the Guardian said, approaching the side of the bed. “How do you feel, my friend? You’ve been out for some time.”  
The Drifter’s breath left in a rattle edging on a weak cough.  
“To be expected,” the Guardian nodded. “I’ll bring you water, and warm up something for you to eat.”  
The Drifter was not used to such an open statement of generosity. Everything was always silent between him and other drifters; a fire lit near someone who could barely stand so they could at least be warm, a medpack set on the ground, a nod of acknowledgement in passing. However, despite not knowing exactly how to take it, the Drifter thought it was… nice.  
He had managed to get into an upright position by the time the Guardian had returned.  
“I’m glad you’re able to take me up on my offer of hospitality,” the Guardian said, setting down a glass of water and a bowl on the bedside table. “I’ve been setting aside something for you each evening since we last spoke. Do you remember? I almost thought you weren’t coming back.”  
The Drifter looked down at his hands in his lap. If the Guardian could read his expression, they didn’t mention it.  
“Well, I will let you eat in peace, my friend,” the Guardian said. “Let me know if you need anything.”  
The Drifter waited until the Guardian was gone before taking the glass of water. They had said plenty of things for him to think about, however brief the conversation was.  
What an unusually kind person, the Drifter concluded. He wouldn’t mind staying here a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> My writing is a little rusty, but I wanted to do my own fix-it for HLD, hence the short story and probably-awkward paragraphing. My future stories will probably be better than this one >>" Thanks for reading!


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